


Boxing day

by maviemesregles



Series: A holiday there is [2]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boxing Day, F/M, Holidays, Modern AU, Smut, wee babies in a pub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maviemesregles/pseuds/maviemesregles
Summary: The one where Claire treats herself to new pyjamas stumbling upon the very same James Fraser. Again.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: A holiday there is [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563970
Comments: 14
Kudos: 134





	Boxing day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ficlet that belongs to the "A holiday there is" series.
> 
> I absolutely loved writing one-shot fic "Twas two days before Christmas" for Tumblr prompt and had no intentions whatsoever to continue this story. Even though I fell in love with this Claire and Jamie myself. But I've received many comments of you guys asking me to write more.  
> There'll be more coming your way, so don't forget to check out A holiday there is page!  
> And now enjoy another peek into the life of these two wee babes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, hitting Kudos and wanting me to write next instalment. It blows my mind.
> 
> Loads of love. xx
> 
> P.S. And loads of love to my Anne 💜

Claire closed her eyes, lips curling into a Cheshire cat-like smile. She leans back, the coolness of the pub stone wall feels pleasant on her heated skin. She hears the crackles of ice in her Gin & Tonic. Taking a sip, she feels her mouth explode into millions of stars as the drink slides over her tongue. The lime bites her tastebuds. She finds making a coherent sentence becoming more challenging as she consumes her third cocktail.  Claire cautiously opens one eye to peer around the crowded room. The pub is warm and dimly lit, buzzing like a beehive with the sound of conversation, laughter, glasses clinking and slow soft jazz.  Outside, it’s raining cats and dogs, the passersby hold onto their umbrellas as a buttress against the stormy wind.  _ Ah, London. _

Inside, it smells of cigarettes and well-worn aged-wood . It’s toasty, but has become too much for her liking. It makes the soft curls at her nape stick to the skin. But she doesn’t dwell on it too long as she sees Jamie coming back from the bathroom. It is still a mystery to her how just the sight of him makes her edges soften and a tight knot appear in her lower belly. Claire takes another sip of her G & T, feeling the bubbles roll between her lips causing a prickle in her mouth. She is lost in thought, considering how she doesn't like mysteries. But she decides to solve this one called Jamie Fraser.

His bright hair shines with all the possible shades of red, even the ones she could not name. His jeans hang low, exposing the sliver of skin beneath his sweater like he doesn’t care. Claire has to hide a laugh inside her jumper sleeve when Jamie runs into a decoration hanging from the ceiling. He is so tall it brushes against his forehead. He curses. Surely something in Gaelic, Claire thinks. 

“All right?” She says, saluting her glass to him.

“All right.” Jamie pours another glass of whisky for himself. He says something about waiters forgetting the salad she had ordered and if she wants him to go and ask... Claire barely registers the actual words, his Scottish burr is as smooth as melted butter, turning her blood boiling hot with need.

“Shall we have a toast?” Fraser leans his glass to hers, eyes never leaving her face. 

She licks her lips and Jamie shifts his chair closer to hers, so he can drape his hand across her back.

“To unexpected meetings.” Beauchamp lifts her cocktail. 

As Jamie’s thumb draws intricate patterns on her shoulder their conversation drifts into discussing one another day, the never-ending rain, and how good their drinks are. Claire mentions the documentary she saw recently on BBC and Jamie shares his love for Paolo Nutini’s music. They both agree that the guy is  _ a bloody genius. _

Claire lets herself melt into him, her body relaxes against his. Her head falls down Jamie’s shoulder, hand lays atop his thigh. The Scot draws her closer and she can feel his lips brushing her forehead softly.

They sit for some time allowing the silence to surround them. Absorbing the atmosphere around them, the malty smell of good beer, of holiday decorations with their piney scent, and the howling of the wintry wind outside.

“So, Sassenach, do ye sleep without yer bottoms?” Jamie smirks at her. 

She gives him a side-eye and laughs. He finds himself helpless around her. He feels lost in the face of feeling that somebody finds him truly funny. He watches as her lips, delicate pink and inviting, curl into a smile. Her giggles explode into laughter. Her smile could burn him from inside out and _ Christ, he would not mind being reduced to ash.  _

“Is that a trick question, Fraser?” She leans back on her chair, pops a cherry tomato into her mouth feeling it burst with sweet juice. “It depends on the occasion.”

Claire glances at him under her lashes and Jamie feels a hot lump stuck in his throat.

Suddenly he remembers a picture of her in a red dress _ (God, that neckline)  _ that she sent him in response to his _ “I hope ye have a merry and very happy Christmas, Sassenach! XX” _

He did not know that Claire’s breath hitched when he snapped a selfie of himself as a response. He looked  _ dashing.  _ The smart white shirt and half loosened tie made her let out a shaky breath.

Neither did he know that just within two days he’d encounter the Sassenach again. 

On Boxing day head buzzing with business decisions, he walked toward the cashier at Ralph Lauren in Harrods, grasping a pyjama pants in his hands. That’s when his eyes noticed the mass of curls and he heard her high-class English accent moving among the clothing racks.

“I’ll take the top.” Her hands clutching the pyjamas top from the same set he was going to purchase.

“I’ll take the bottom.” 

Claire looked at him over her shoulder and he drowned in the whisky coloured depths again. They had a good laugh about the fact that this set of nightwear brought them together again. Jamie teased her for buying the pyjamas in men’s section and Claire asked him something that made her heartbeat in anticipation.

_ “How often do you come to London?”  _

Then Jamie had asked her to grab a drink and she led him to her favourite pub in Hackney.

* * *

“Care for a dance?” Beauchamp stands up, holding her hand out for him. She feels a bit crazy and just slightly drunk with the alcohol she had and with him being so near. The smell of his cologne, amber wood and sea coast, and the memory of his lips learning the lines of her body, causing her to be a little reckless tonight.  _ But who cares? _

Jamie takes her hand, his fingers run through hers, her little anchor to hold on to. He leads her through the crowd. He feels his cheeks burn hot just from the nearness of her. When Claire’s hands wrap around his neck, he pulls her closer, fingers dig into the tender skin on her waist. She smells of lime, bright and juicy; of the lingering remnants of her flowery perfume and the smoke in her hair; she smells of hope, of the future.

Her cheek is against Jamie’s. His stubble brushing against her skin, a bit scratchy, but she doesn’t care. For a second Jamie thinks she trembles in his arms, but he assumes it’s just his imagination.

_ But she does tremble.  _ Claire closes her eyes and lets him lead her. They sway slowly to the rhythm of the piano.

She feels weightless and care-free. She feels warm, warm from his body pressed so close against her as they dance. Her heart beats frantically, something quite usual when Jamie’s around. 

When she opens her eyes she sees him looking at her. The roses bloom bright pink in her cheeks and she drops her gaze. 

“Would I embarrass myself if I'd say I like ye, Sassenach?” 

She looks up at him. And kisses him breathless. Her mind went blank. And they danced some more oblivious to the fact that the music has stopped. Nothing matters besides them being together here. In the city with the rain washing over the streets, the city of the alleys where time never stops, and the corner shops where bright vegetables spilt a paint blot in this grey winter.

Within the confines of their own universe, time suspends as they walk together, hand in hand to Jamie's car. When he kissed her eyelids and under eyes asking “What if I kissed ye here?” she did not know she ever needed to hear such questions from a man. But her knees went all wobbly and she ached so deep down the marrow of her bones. Her heart thuds in her ears. His hair is the colour of burnt butter in the evening darkness of the car. There is a question on the tip of her tongue.  _ Would you like to stay? _

Jamie knows now that she lives in the pastel pink Victorian house.

She whimpers and sighs as his lips chart the map down her body. As he  _ loves _ her with his mouth, she knows she cannot part with him just now.

Later Jamie learns that the sun crawls into her bedroom about seven in the morning and that  _ she does sleep without bottoms. _


End file.
